


Betrayed

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Don't Chase the Dead (music video), Blood and Injury, Cheating, Death, Dialogue Heavy, Heist, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, POV Multiple, Shooting, Stabbing, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27043936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Art and love can be beautiful, or they can be murder.TW: Don't Chase the Dead mv au, major character death, angsty idiots, way too heavy on the dialogue and POV changes, a sandwich.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

She was so beautiful, black hair and eyes and coffee absorbing the light at the window. When she smiled, all that sun came back out. It took his breath away.

"What?!" The sharp bark through the phone brought him back to the moment.

"Hey. It's me."

"I know who it is. The fuck do you want?"

Manson chucked. He could hear the cigarette stuffed between his lips, see him rifling through the junk on his nightstand for a light. Some things never change.

"Got a tip on a painting at the Icarus, D wing. Mark de Kelly. _Betrayed._ It's an oil abs-"

"Start saying words that matter or I'm hanging up."

"Last sale was 290 million."

"Two…" The shuffling stopped. After a long moment, a lighter clicked. "Where'd you get the tip?"

"Norm-"

"I find the shit. You authenticate. That's how it works. Where you getting tips all of a sudden?"

Manson bit his lip. He looked toward her, ashamed that he didn't want to say her name. She smiled softly and took a sip. His heart fluttered.

"Jesus fucking christ! You're getting tips from her now? She's fuckin' you up, man. She's getting to you. And don't tell me you love her. You're thinking with your dick. I don't fuckin' trust her. And you shouldn't either. Too damn stupid to see it. You always were stupid for chicks. Soft."

The lighter clicked again. Manson took advantage of the pause.

"You coming with me or not?"

Norm dropped the receiver away from his face and screamed, "Fuck!" Someone began pounding on the other side of the wall. There was a brief, muffled argument.

"I'm gonna call Tim, see if we can fence this piece of shit… if it even exists."

He hung up. Manson let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He slipped his phone into his pocket.

"He didn't take it well," she sighed, pulling a chair out for him.

"How did you guess?" He sat down. "I'm sorry, Lindsay."

"For what? It's not your job to make Norman like me," she said, catching his hands in hers. "He has issues. But after this job, he'll be president of my fan club."

"No," Manson smiled, drawing circles on her hands with his thumbs. "He's gonna settle for vice president."

Lindsay leaned over the table to steal a kiss. Her lips were the most intoxicating thing in the world. They were better than picking a lock for the first time, better than doing coke for the last time. 

"I gotta go out, baby," she murmured, pulling back.

"What? No, stay. Please… I'm about to be a very wealthy man…"

Lindsay gently pushed on his shoulders, chuckling.

"And on that day, we will disappear. But until then, I still have stuff to do."

"I'll come with y-"

"No. You won't. You need to get some rest," she insisted, pulling her jacket on. "I'll be home."

Manson pouted. She always said she'd be home. Not when, or at what stage in her itinerary, just that she would eventually return. It was a quirk he was trying to love.

Once the door closed between them, they both sighed. His carried him to the couch, hers down the stairs.

She slipped into the sun and her heart felt instantly lighter. No tiny rooms. No permanent tang of vodka and toast hanging over her head. No pressure to be anyone's anything.

She hailed a cab, paid with cash from the lining of her purse, and rang apartment 7. The latch clicked, triggered from high above. She disappeared inside.

"Fuckin' knew it," Norm growled from his car across the street.

He pinched his cell phone between his shoulder and cheek. It was already ringing. He shook a cigarette out of the pack in his hand. As usual, he had no idea where his lighter was.

"Yeah?" Manson sounded like he'd just woken up.

"You're a fuckin' idiot."

"What? I… Norm?"

"Who the fuck else would it be? Stopped by to see Ginger to verify your little tip. Got back to the car, and what do I see? Your little piece walking into someone else's apartment. She's playin' you, man. I knew it."

"You were following Lindsay? What the fuck?"

"No. I didn't follow... Could you…?"

Norm yanked the glove compartment open. Four lighters fell out. He started shaking them. The red one came to life. He used it and tossed it into the floorboard.

"Could you listen for once? I was at Ginger's. And I'm telling you, she's screwin' somebody out here at the Circle."

"Norm... her sister lives out there."

"Oh, sure. Her _sister_. You believe that?"

"I've met her."

"Man, you're hopeless. She's up there right now drinking rosé and jizz. You want pictures? 'Cause I'll go up the fire escape."

"That's enough," Manson said more forcefully than he'd expected.

Norm coughed a laugh and started the car. He barely glanced back before pulling away from the curb. Once he was headed in the right direction, he brought the phone back up to his ear.

"So the tip was bullshit?" 

"No. Ginger said it's there. But don't get fuckin' cocky. You can't get in beforehand to appraise. For all we know it's bogus. You wanna go to prison for a dummy canvas?"

"We know the layout. We've hit the Icarus befo-"

"Yeah, five years ago, and we got lucky because we were stupid," Norm hissed, searching for another lighter without taking his eyes off the road.

"Then this time we'll get lucky because we're smart."

Norm growled in frustration and the phone clicked. Manson laughed. He was always so high-strung. His brain must've been a miserable place to be.

Raking his painted nails through his black hair, he shuffled toward the fridge. Yesterday's screwdriver and a pack of cheese were all he'd put in there. Fortunately, Lindsay had left a sandwich and the ingredients for more.

She joked about fattening him up, but he thought it was more than that. He'd never had a girlfriend care about what he put in his body. Roast beef on rye tasted like love.

Back on the couch, he glanced at his phone. Norm was wrong about her. But he meant well. He always meant well.

He didn't realize he'd dialed until Lindsay picked up.

"Babe, what's wrong?" she panted.

"Nothing's wrong. Uhm… Where are you? You sound out of breath."

"I'm headed downtown. I ran to get a cab but he drove off."

"Sounds quiet there."

"Yeah, I ducked into a shop to answer. It's raining. Are you ok?"

"Yeah. Hey, were you over by the Circle a few minutes ago? Norm said he saw you."

"I dropped something off for Liv," she said flatly. "Frankly, that's not any of Norm's business. I don't want him following me."

"He was there to see someone else."

"I'm sure he was. Listen…"

She sighed heavily and a stinging silence set in. Manson listened intently. He silently begged her to believe him, to forgive him.

"I know you've known him a long time, baby. And he's good at what he does. But it's not fair for him to get between us. I think you need to have him over and have a long talk. I'll stay over with Liv."

He nodded as if she could see and said, "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too."

She hung up and shoved her phone into her purse. Her red nails rubbed at her temples for a moment. a lock of wet hair slid over her ear. A sudden voice made her jump.

"Problem?"

"God, Liv! You scared me."

"I'm sorry!"

The freshly-showered woman joined Lindsay on the end of the bed. She scrunched her damp blue hair in her hands.

"You sure?"

"Norm's suspicion is spreading. I can't let it damage our relationship. I need M to trust me, or this is never gonna work."

"It'll work," Liv said soothingly. "You're everything he could ever want. Have faith."

Lindsay laughed and shook her head.

"I wish I had your optimism."

"It's easy!" Liv wrapped her arm around her shoulder. "Just get your clit pierced. After that, nothing can scare you."

"Speaking of… I like this new one. Does it hurt?"

Lindsay lifted her hand to thumb at the thin steel ring in the center of Liv's lower lip.

"I thought we were gonna find out in the shower, but since we're already here..."

Liv pulled on her shoulders, flopping them both onto the bed. They giggled for a moment, then pulled one another close. Their kiss was breathless and bold, hungry.

Liv pushed her flat and moved, straddling her hips. Lindsay let her hold her wrists above her head with one hand. The other tugged her shirt up to expose her torso. There, between her small, pert breasts, was her only tattoo: the letter L flourished into a heart.

"You may go home to him for now," Liv purred, tracing it with her fingertip, "but you'll belong to me for the rest of your life."


	2. Chapter 2

"Why the suit?" Lindsay asked, watching him smudge his eye shadow.

"There's a private showing in the main gallery. If we get caught before we get to the painting, we say we're with the party."

"Has that ever worked?"

"Twice. Security doesn't know who the big donors are, and they don't wanna upset the wrong people. So they just escort us back to the main area and we leave."

"Slick. Must've been your idea."

A blush spread across his pale cheeks. He knew it was a good idea when Norm only called it stupid once. But hearing someone openly say it felt good. There was a tenderness to it that he didn't know he craved.

"Are you sure you wanna come with?" Manson asked. "It's just… he'll be pissed. I can handle him-"

"You think he'll take a swing at you?"

"No! Never. He's not like that. He's rough on the outside, but he's only ever tried to look out for me. Ever since I was a skinny little shit stealing oil pastels and carving up desks."

Lindsay smiled. She turned him in his chair and sat on his knee. Her thin wrists crossed behind his neck. He let his hand rest on her hip. It was good, easy.

"I can imagine you as a kid. I bet you were sweet and nerdy."

"Neither," he laughed. "Had hair down to my ass, a chip on my shoulder, three t-shirts and all of 'em black. Started with the makeup as another 'fuck you' and found out I liked it."

His eyes shifted to a spot in the distance, unfocused.

"Rick Malsana never missed a chance to call me out. 'Cock-sucker,' 'princess'... Bloodied my nose a few times. Pain just made me angrier.

"Then one day Norm cornered me in the bathroom. Never seen him before and all of a sudden he's telling me to do his face to match mine. Rick loved it. Two targets for the price of one. 'Till Norm bent his arm backwards around a door."

"Sounds like he was looking for a fight," Lindsay said.

"Yeah, maybe. And we both got expelled. But I think he meant well."

She dipped her finger into the black powder and gently smeared it all the way to his brow. In a shitty motel room across town, Norm was doing the same thing. He piled it on until his eyes watered.

It was uncomfortable, like everything else that mattered. Like the bucket seats in his car. Like sticking around to watch Manson make the mistake of his life. At least until the job panned out - if it did - and M didn't need him anymore.

"Ingrate," he growled, parking the car behind the apartment building. 

He mouthed the last cigarette from his pack. He found a lighter in the pocket of his jacket and fumbled it into the floor. He bent over to dig for it. The passenger door opened and the seat moved.

"'Bout time," he rumbled, finally retrieving the lighter.

He sat up and caught her face in the rear-view mirror. His gut exploded into flames.

"Fuck no! Get out of my car!"

"Norm…"

"You too, asshole!"

The three of them got out, slamming doors. Lindsay leaned against the wall. Manson went around the car. He dwarfed Norm by several inches, but his body language was submissive.

"It's her tip."

"I don't give a fuck whose tip it is! She's not going! The fuck are you thinking?!"

"We need her fo-"

"We don't _need_ her! You _want_ her! Learn the goddamn difference! She doesn't know anything about this shit. You wanna go to prison for some bitch? Fine. But I'm not going down with you."

"She knows the security system, Norm. She's got the code to get in quiet."

"Oh, she's got a _code_!" Norm raised his voice even louder. "I guess we better just put her in charge!"

Manson looked up at her, still standing to the side. Her face was blank. He turned back in time to catch Norm's palms against his chest. He'd never been shoved that hard by him.

"Christ!"

"It's you and me, man," Norm seethed, pointing menacingly. "It's always been you and me. Now you're gonna throw that away because you stuck your dick in crazy and we are gonna lose _everything_."

His fingers closed around the lapel of Manson's jacket. He pulled him close to slowly whisper, "She doesn't love you."

"Why would you care?"

Norm's lips quivered and his nostrils flared. If only M weren't such a fucking idiot. If only it weren't too late to draw him a picture. He tensed and Manson responded, drawing back a little. It hurt.

"I'm not gonna hit you, asshole," Norm mumbled, letting go. "Get in."

Confusion wrinkling his face, Manson walked around the car and opened the door. Lindsay didn't move. Norm wiped his mouth and yanked his door open.

"Get in the fucking car."

An hour was a long time to sit in a car that rode like an oxcart and stank of sweat and smoke. The classic rock coming out of one rear speaker drowned out most of the small talk.

Not that there was much to cover up. For the most part, Norm just fumed silently. It perfectly balanced Manson's whimpering self-pity. At least she could text Liv to keep her updated on their progress.

When they got off the highway, they started to rehearse. Their plan was simple, streamlined. They'd lifted hundreds of pieces over the years and squandered every penny. Skilled, but stupid. She'd make sure it didn't happen again.

Just in case, she memorized the lot they were turning into. The space was away from any lights, next to a dumpster. She tried to remember what pocket Norm carried his keys in. Just in case...

"Hey!" Norm interrupted her thoughts. "You takin' a nap? I said your phone stays in the car. You'll drop it. And if they trace your shit back to us, they'll fry me." He adjusted the mirror to look her in the eye. "Because I will fuckin' kill you."

She held his gaze and tucked her phone under the seat. Seemingly satisfied, he turned the car off and got out. Manson followed and held the door for her. She tossed him a thin smile, just enough to keep him hanging on.

It was comforting. She'd been quiet for most of the day, her face blank. A flash of the Lindsay he knew reassured him. He winked, hoping she would understand that he wasn't upset either. Then he cleared his expression and followed Norm to the service exit.

In the sickly yellow light, she looked otherworldly. She tapped the access code into the keypad with her fingernail. The door clicked and Norm pulled it open with leather-gloved hands. He nodded them inside, then propped the door with the ubiquitous loading dock brick.

Just inside the door, at a simplified computer terminal, Lindsay input an authorization prefix and password. Manson looked away, scanning the darkness for employees. Lindsay stopped tapping.

"Wait," she whispered.

Manson held his breath, watching the blinking red lights in the corner. They stopped. Just to be sure, they followed the wall to the inner door. It opened silently.

Once inside, Manson led. He'd been to the gallery many times. Old favorites seemed to watch him walk by. 

Through a wide arch, he could see the painting. It moved, breathed, screamed. It ate itself. It was beautiful. It would be difficult to pocket his appreciation for the art and focus on the minutia. But there would be time to love it later.

Norm and Lindsay stood back, watching the doorways. Manson pulled out his jewelry loupe and light and leaned close. Of course he couldn't be completely sure that it wasn't a good forgery. But the signature was consistent, not identical. There was no brush stutter.

His heart pounding, he stepped back and shoved his tools in his pocket. Lindsay touched his arm. His voice came out husky and soft.

"Holy shit, baby, you were right. We're gonna be so fucking rich… I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, squeezing his arm.

Norm pushed past them and spat, "shut the fuck up before someone hears us!"

His knife ripped through the canvas, just inside the frame. Manson had said the sound made him sick because of the danger to the art, but to Norm it was the sound of a torn parachute. Once the first cut had been made, they lost any reasonable excuse.

The instant it was cut free of its frame, Norm rolled it and headed for the door. He could feel M's warmth behind him, hear the unfamiliar tapping of Lindsay's boots. He put his back to the wall next to the door, checked the far archway, and let Manson get the doorknob.

The face on the other side was a blur. Manson was barely aware that the confused shape was a person. They lunged at one another. He wasn't sure what his hands were doing, but his knuckles and his jaw hurt.

He landed hard on his ass. Lindsay stepped in and tried to pull the employee away from the doorway. She managed to knock him off balance and he dragged her to the floor.

In the tangle of limbs that ensued, Lindsay grew impatient. She needed to hurry the end along. With Manson and the employee wrestling, she recognized the opportunity. Her switchblade slid into place.

She stabbed into the middle of them. The employee moaned. Her eyes on Manson's face, she adjusted her angle and stabbed again.


	3. Chapter 3

"Pressure! Put pressure on it!"

Manson didn't respond. He gawked at his hand, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from. The adrenaline didn't make it easy. He patted his arms and looked down.

There was a smear of red across his stomach. He pawed at it. Pain from the touch broke through. Norm shoved at his shoulder.

"Pressure, motherfucker! Slow the bleeding down!"

"Yeah, ok."

He tried to find the hole. His shirt didn't even look torn. The more he moved it around, the worse it looked. It didn't help that they were driving through light and shadow.

"Where do I press? I can't see it." He recognized a tremor in his voice.

"Where it hurts the most, genius! Just do it!"

He tried. The endorphins were wearing off. It felt like forever since the fight. It felt like a dream. But the hole in his gut was definitely real. He pressed as hard as he could and groaned.

"Good! Make it hurt! Hold it! We're gonna get you to a doctor, ok? We're gonna get… Nash. Nash can stitch you up." 

Norm rubbed his face and glanced over. Manson's eyes were closed. He punched him for the first time.

"Hey! Look at me! No passing out. I'm not gonna carry your ass to the clinic."

"You can't lift me," Manson laughed dryly. "I'm awake."

He could feel the blood seeping. It felt like it was draining directly out of his head. He hoped he wouldn't throw up. Heaving might force his guts out between his fingers.

He lifted his left hand, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe he hoped she'd reach up from the back seat and take it. She didn't. He couldn't see her. Maybe she wasn't there.

"Linds…"

"Don't you fucking… Pressure!" 

Norm slapped him. He raised his arm. He was starting to wonder why Norm was so upset. He must've been very upset. He'd never hit him before.

At least that's what he'd said. Lindsay had her doubts. He seemed a bit too eager to do it. The knowledge was almost a relief. The idiot was already being used. She'd given him a gift, making him feel loved for a few months and saving him the heartache of a breakup. 

Not that she cared. Her blank expression confirmed that, and the way she kept typing into her phone. Probably texting her "sister." Norm's hatred for her roiled in his stomach.

He tried to ignore her, to focus on Manson. He looked blue. He was still moving, but slowly. He mumbled a few times. All Norm could do was keep him awake.

He had his hand on the steering wheel, his foot on the gas, but the brake pedal didn't exist. He couldn't stop. That wouldn't help. He couldn't call 911 or pull into a hospital. They'd all go to prison. All he could do was scream.

"We're almost there!"

They weren't.

"Nash is gonna stitch that up!"

He wasn't.

"You're not doing this! You're not!"

He was. Somewhere in the warmth he'd fallen into, he knew it. He was leaking out into the floorboard. It was ok. He wanted to tell Norm that it was ok. He was just too tired.

He wondered if he was still a man. He felt like he might be turning into a collage of pieces, wire wrapped around moments. Norm shoving things in his hands.

_Your shirts suck so I swiped this. Now you won't look like such an idiot._

_I'm tired of watching you drink like a broke teenager. This is the good stuff. Man up._

_I got an extra key to my room. I know you're gonna need me to bail your ass out._

Norm calling with a tip just as his money ran out. Norm trying to warn him. Norm wearing eyeshadow every day.

Oh.

A wave of green light from the tunnel washed the moments away.

Norm felt it. The car got cold. He chewed his fingernail, glanced over at Manson, his head leaned back, lips parted. Something swelled up in his throat. He managed to rasp around it.

"I saw."

"I know," Lindsay said. "Forks Park. The tower."

She cocked a gun. He chuckled. She didn't scare him. Not anymore, at least. Still, he turned toward the industrial area. He might as well.

She was quiet, unfeeling, as vacant as the warehouses they passed. The tower came into view. It looked like an exit sign. He kept his eyes forward, his breaths even. He didn't want to think about what it all meant.

As he slowed the car, looking for a place to pull off, she leaned forward, put the muzzle of the gun against his temple, and squeezed. Some of him hit the window and splattered back. She wiped her face.

The smell made her sick. Her eyes watered. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and the car rolled to a stop. She had to kick against the back of the passenger seat to get out. Manson folded double and crumpled.

The painting was in the trunk. She stopped to clean the blood from her hands and slip on a pair of nitrile gloves. There was no sense in damaging the art any more than it already had been.

The cold leaked into her leather jacket. It crinkled as she walked. She didn't see the car at first. The sick feeling deepened. For some reason, it didn't go away when the headlights flashed at her.

"The trunk's open," Liv said from the driver's side window. "How'd it go?"

Lindsay put the painting in a toolbox that was sitting open and closed the trunk. She came back to the window so Liv could hear her.

"They're both done. Norm was clean. Manson… not so much."

"Aww…" Liv took on a strange, simpering tone. "Is baby feeling sad because she murdered her boyfriend?"

Lindsay furrowed her brow.

"That's not funny."

"It's ok," Liv said softly.

Something metallic clicked inside the car. There was a loud noise, a kick to the chest, the concrete on the back of her head. She looked up at the blue hair leaning out of the window.

"It only hurts the first time."


End file.
